


All in a Title

by StarkMan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Insecure Peter Parker, Iron Dad, May is Dead, My First Fanfic, Supportive Avengers, Tell me if it's rubbish, To dad or not to dad, i think, iron dad & spider son, sorry - Freeform, spider son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 01:03:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkMan/pseuds/StarkMan
Summary: “Nothing.” Clint said, innocently. “It suits you, domestic life.”Mr Stark opened his mouth to retort but shut it after a moment, shaking his head.“It’s lovely to see. Real sweet.” Clint continued, ignoring Bruce’s unsubtle nudges in his side. “Almost fatherly.”Peter glanced to his right and watched Natasha frown slightly at Clint. Steve’s eyes shifted and met his own and Peter could feel his face heating up. No, no, no, why now? He cringed internally and forced his eyes back to the screen. That was definitely an inside joke. They’d picked up on Peter’s avoidance of calling Mr Stark anything.





	All in a Title

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was playing for the third time in the last week and Peter’s attention was starting to wander as Umbridge interrupted Dumbledore in his welcoming speech. Rude. Since moving in with Mr Stark after May had died, Peter had spent the past five months alternating between drifting between the motions of the day and focusing on every awkward, painful moment of interaction between himself and the other avengers.

       They’d finally stopped asking him how he was feeling, thanks to some threats of booby-trapping their living quarters from Mr Stark, but the questioning eyes and sideways glances when they thought he wasn’t paying attention were almost as bad. Mr Stark seemed to understand. He understood that Peter was almost doing okay until someone brought up how he shouldn’t feel quite so okay yet. Well, that was a little harsh, they didn’t intend on making him feel that way, it just ended up as a reminder. A sharp pain in his midsection that he had no physical evidence of.

So yeah, it was the little things that were bothering him at the moment. He attempted to help with the snacks for their film and somehow managed to burn popcorn and spill waffle mixture. Waffles were apparently a movie snack according to Clint, and Natasha didn’t stop him so nobody else argued. He’d blushed and apologised embarrassingly as Mr Stark herded him out of the kitchen area and pushed him onto the couch.

He was sat in the middle with Mr Stark on his left, whose chin was propped in his hand and arm on the rest. Steve was on Peter’s right and Natasha on the end. Sneaking a glance at them, they looked far comfier than Peter could allow himself to be. Clint was on the other, smaller, sofa with Bruce and both men held a bowl of popcorn and cheesy puffs.

“They need to revolt now, before she takes over.” Clint stated, tossing a cheesy puff into the air and catching it in his open mouth.

“You know there isn’t some alternate ending, right?” Bruce said. “It’ll go the same way as the other times we’ve watched this.”

“They should make them then. Think of all the possibilities!” Clint gestured wildly with his bowl and a few cheesy puffs landed on the floor.

“I’m not cleaning that up.” Mr Stark muttered, eyes still on the screen, and Steve snorted.

“Sure, Tony.” He murmured. Peter glanced from Steve to Mr Stark and watched the other man’s head tilt as he looked across Peter to Steve.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not picking up any more of your shit, I already cleared up your cooking stuff in the kitchen, you heathens.” He narrowed his eyes at the others and Clint shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing.” Clint said, innocently. “It suits you, domestic life.”

Mr Stark opened his mouth to retort but shut it after a moment, shaking his head.

“It’s lovely to see. Real sweet.” Clint continued, ignoring Bruce’s unsubtle nudges in his side. “Almost fatherly.”

Peter glanced to his right and watched Natasha frown slightly at Clint. Steve’s eyes shifted and met his own and Peter could feel his face heating up. No, no, no, why now? He cringed internally and forced his eyes back to the screen. That was definitely an inside joke. They’d picked up on Peter’s avoidance of calling Mr Stark anything. Yeah, no, he wasn’t looking at Mr Stark at all, certain he’s now put the man in a really awkward position.

“You’d know about that, wouldn’t you, Katniss?” Mr Stark replied and Peter glanced sideways before he could stop himself. Mr Stark rolled his eyes and gestured to the floor. “As long as it doesn’t stain my carpet orange, I don’t really care. Can we get back to the film though? I have plenty I could be doing instead of sitting here with you idiots.”

Clint gasped, “Pete, he just called you an idiot. I wouldn’t let that fly.”

“He’s my idiot. There’s a difference.” Mr Stark countered quickly. Obviously before he’d thought it through as he paused and gave Clint a quick smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Film. Watch it or I stop it.”

Clint leant forwards and picked the fallen food from the floor and dumped them back in the bowl.

“Uh, what happened to the five second rule?” Bruce whispered, affronted, as Clint swapped their bowls.

“That’s for pussies.”

“Clint, language.” Steve’s quiet admonishment had them all chuckling before Natasha shushed them without her eyes straying once from the television.

 

***

 

A few days later, Peter dropped his bag onto the kitchen island before opening the fridge and grabbing a carton of orange juice. Mr Stark sat on the couch with a StarkPad propped on his legs, socked feet on the cushion.

“How was school, kid?” He tilted his head to look over the back of the sofa.

It was easy for Mr Stark. Nothing changed for him in the order of things. Pete, kid, Spidey, Underoos and Peter if he was particularly serious. Same old, no expectations or awkwardness. Peter, however, couldn’t stop thinking about what Steve had said last week, and damn Clint for having his hearing aids switched on when he did. Peter had been sparring with Steve, like wow, he still can’t fathom that, and he’d hit the mat a few too many times for comfort. Steve had hauled him to his feet and clapped a hand on his shoulder, Clint still attacking one of the reinforced bags behind them.

“Great job Pete, you’re doing well. That’ll do for today.” He’d said earnestly, catching Peter’s eyes.

Peter shook his head, “I’m eating the mat more often than I’m not.”

“Today, yeah,” He agreed, “but only because I’ve been stepping it up. You’ll be up to Nat’s level before you know it. Now go wash up, your dad’s on dinner tonight and I think we all need to be prepared.” He pulled a face and Peter forced a tight laugh, caught up on a certain word.

“Hey! Kiddo, what’s up? Whose ass do I need to kick? I’ll do it. Just name them.” Mr Stark’s voice brought him back sharply. The man was now frowning, setting the StarkPad on the couch next to him and getting up.

“Nothing, I’m fine, school was fine, literally nothing of importance happened there.” Peter insisted. Mr Stark stood in front of him now, watching him critically for a moment and Peter tried not to fidget.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Mr Stark acquiesced then paused. “Though if it wasn’t, fine that is, you can tell me. I’ll sort it.” Mr Stark pulled a face. “Try. I’ll try my best to. I made that promise when I signed those papers Pete. This really isn’t-“ Mr Stark ran a hand down his face. “God I’m shit at this. Look, you can talk to me, kid. About anything. There, see? This is us talking, we can do this.” He finished with such a doubtful smile that Peter had to deny his earlier thoughts of how simple this was for Mr Stark.

“You’re not.” Peter blurted. Mr Stark’s smile fell fractionally before he hitched it back up. “Shit at this, I meant!” Jesus, Peter was going to hell. “You’re not shit at this.” He clarified. Mr Stark’s smile hesitatingly reached his eyes for a second before he coughed and schooled his expression. “And I know I can,” Peter continued quietly, “you’ve been the best. You didn’t have to do this, I’m sure there was some distant relative out there that would have had me. You have Stark Industries to run and Iron Man, the last thing you needed was a teenager dumped on your doorstep.”

“God Pete, you’re really hoping I’m up all night with heartburn from feelings, aren’t you?” Mr Stark sighed. “Look, you’re not Harry Potter, no matter how much you want to be, so quit it with the ‘dumped on the doorstop’ line bullshit.” He took Peter’s shoulders in his hands and squeezed. Peter was embarrassed at the amount of comfort he gained. “You’ve had an awful time of it and I stepped in because I wanted to. You know I wouldn’t let you go to some stranger, and if that means you’re stuck with me, then you’ll have to wait it out a few more years to be and adult and free. I’ve got Pepper for SI and Iron Man needs Spider-Kid around to keep up with suit maintenance and all that.” Peter knew to read between the lines and huffed out a laugh.

“Thank you.” Peter tried to say everything with a look. Mr Stark sniffed and squeezed once more before turning away.

“C’mon, pick a movie for when the others get in. I’m not letting Bruce pick again, one viewing of The Judge is enough.”

Peter snorted, “You’re just jealous he looks like a better version of you.”

“Excuse you?!”

 

***

 

Dad. That one word he hadn’t given much thought to since his parents had passed. Ben had always been Ben and his name itself had taken on meaning to encompass everything he was to Peter. And while he’d obviously thought of his parents, he never had any reason to believe he’d ever want to use that word in everyday conversation again. Peter sighed and turned over in bed. 2:45am his clock read, and he hadn’t slept a second.

Mr Stark had never addressed what to call him and the thought of asking him made his face heat. ‘Mr Stark’ was all well and good in his head but aloud? It just seemed so formal now. He supposed ‘Mr Stark’ had gained meaning of its own, like Ben’s name had, but Peter hadn’t called the man anything at all since the adoption, and feared it was a subconscious decision on his part. It had been a new start, potential to get closer to Mr Stark in more than a mentor/mentee way. He’d made so much time to be able to visit Mr Stark in his lab before but couldn’t help the slight disappointment when Happy eventually called through to take him home.

Steve had just stated facts. Mr Stark was his dad according to the law. Did Peter see him as one? Yes. Yes, Mr Stark could be his dad in more than just the law, Peter was painfully hopeful of that. They’d been getting closer before Steve had said that word and sent Peter off feeling unsure and incredibly aware of the elephant in the room whenever he spoke to the man. His mind wandered to parts of his days that were the norm now. All things the younger Peter would never have dreamed he’d get the chance to do. It didn’t take much to picture himself and Mr Stark testing prototypes, helping cook dinner (always disastrous, even with the two of them), and the usual every day tasks. He’d pass Mr Stark a tool and it would be easy to say, “Here you go, dad.” And nobody would bat an eyelid and Peter wouldn’t die of humiliation because Mr Stark wouldn’t look at him funny as though he’d overstepped some invisible boundary. Yeah. That wasn’t happening. Mr Stark may not have said he couldn’t call him that, but he also never said that he could. Sleep wasn’t happening tonight, he was sure of it.

 

***

 

“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Peter’s hand twitched violently and his calc homework was now adorned with a crazy scribble across half the page.

“Jesus Natasha, don’t do that!” He groaned, critically eyeing his paper. “Wait, what?”

“Tony. He wouldn’t mind what you call him.” She stated, face unreadable. He felt his ears warm and his heart picked up before plummeting. Oh god, they did know. Why was he so obvious?

“I know.” He shrugged, willing his ears to cool off before his whole face lit up.

“Then stop giving the man grey hairs and quit being awkward with him. He’s convinced he’s done something wrong.”

“Everything’s fine, really.” He stressed, and Natasha raised an eyebrow. “He’s done nothing wrong, seriously. He needs to stop worrying. I’ve been a bit busy with school and we have finals coming up. He knows that.”

“Peter, you’re killing the guy. And I know what that looks like so trust me, you need to make up your mind. Neither of you are sleeping much by the looks, only he’s being kept in the dark.” She finished gently, reaching up to touch his hair for a moment. “Movie night tonight, and I want to see you actually relax. Things will work out just how they’re supposed to, don’t worry, little spider.” She smirked and ruffled his hair before getting up and leaving Peter to quietly sigh, staring at his paper but thoughts undeniably not on AP Calculus.

 

***

 

They were minus a few people tonight. Steve and Clint had headed upstate with a SHIELD assignment, leaving Peter, Mr Stark, Natasha and Bruce in the tower for movie night. Clint’s absence allowed Peter to sit a little closer to Mr Stark as the movie started. Bruce didn’t seem the type to remark on Peter’s social stumbling and Natasha flashed him an undecipherable look before stretching her legs onto Bruce’s lap where they sat on the other sofa. Mr Stark had seemed tired and Peter thought he was going to bail, but he had sat down and taken off his tie, leaving himself in shirt and trousers. He’d rolled the sleeves up and Peter marvelled at the Tony Stark the media never had the fortune to see.

“What film is it this time?” The man asked, turning look at Peter sat next to him.

“Uh, it’s probably Natasha’s turn to pick, I chose last time.”

Bruce snorted. “Probably? Peter, you choose every time.”

“Nope, nu-uh. Brucey doesn’t get to choose.”

Peter laughed. “Okay, can we watch Batman?”

“I take that back.” Mr Stark declared. “What’s your pick, Brucey-Pie?”

“Kid’s got a good choice,” Natasha piped up, “I think I see his fascination.”

Mr Stark wrinkled his nose, “Well I don’t. Bats, really? Ooh I’ve got a secret hidden base in a cave, and don’t get me started on the design of that Bat-Mobile.”

“Okay, okay, not Batman!” Peter threw up his hands. Natasha glanced at him before shrugging innocently.

“I was thinking more of the genius, family fortune, design my own weaponry, turn my fear-slash-hardship into my armour sort of thing. And let’s not forget about your private base hidden well below this tower. Nope, don’t see the interest at all actually.” Natasha said, eyes alight with amusement.

And now Peter was wishing SHIELD had called Natasha away too.

“FRIDAY, put Batman on.” Mr Stark announced, and Peter sank into the cushions, stealing a glance to his left to see a small smile on Mr Stark’s face. The man sniffed. “Eyes front kiddo, you’ll miss all the second-rate badassery.”

 

Near the end, Peter’s eyes had started to droop and he squinted over at Natasha and Bruce. Bruce had long since fallen asleep, his mouth hanging open and his head lolling against the back of the couch. He really ought to get a picture but he couldn’t rouse himself enough to get up. Natasha was awake though and she may get him back for it if he decided to snap one. Mr Stark was also awake, he noticed, but not by much. He’d slid down in his seat a little and was angled towards Peter. Sensing eyes on him, he glanced down at Peter and huffed a soft chuckle.

“You look beat.” He murmured, and Peter made a noise of non-committal. “Bed or come here, your choice.” Mr Stark lifted his arm hesitatingly and Peter frowned slightly.

  
“Not bed.” He evaded, sleepily. He stared at Mr Stark for a moment before the man shook his head slightly and reached forwards to pull Peter down and against his side. Peter held still, wondering whether this was okay and felt Mr Stark’s hand come up to gently push his head down against the man’s chest. Mr Stark’s hand didn’t leave his head and Peter had a brief moment of wondering how the man still smelt like motor oil when dressed for the office. Motor oil and the Mr Stark’s cologne, a smell Peter was quickly coming to associate with safety and ‘dad’.

“Go to sleep, Pete.” He murmured into his hair, hand gently stroking his curls. Peter intended on listening to the voice, blissed out beyond any intelligible thought.

“’Kay dad.” He answered, almost not quite coherent enough to notice the hand pause in his hair or the hitch of breath beneath him. He was completely gone though by the time the hand resumed stroking his hair and there was a brief press of lips to his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for making it through, seriously, well done. Let me know what you think, just a few words please! Neg and positive feedback encouraged. 
> 
> In character? Too forced? Rushed? 
> 
> I didn't want to post some epic story as my first fic so I focused on something a little more condensed. Hopefully it came across right, I'm an absolute picky reader so my standards in reading fics is pretty high. That completely goes out the window when it's your own writing and for some reason you can't see it as though you were reading it first time. Apologies if it hurt to read, not my intention.


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